The Wild Waste. A million miles of whorling sandstorms, shifting dunes, and dusty bones. A hellscape populated by ravenous monsters, slavering ghouls, ruthless criminals, infernal madmen, and every despicable wretch in between. Some call it hell. Others call it heaven. After all, what is it other than a paradise for the damned? The gods don't speak here, don't bless their followers with their power to purge and destroy the unholy. The sun does not shine here, blocked by the great cloud of white, spiralling smoke that hovers above all, pumped out by the countless giant smokestacks dotted all across the Wastes. The law holds no power here, where personal honor, coin, and the burning desire to not be shot in the head while one sleeps are the only three things that truly steer a person straight. They say that only three types of people populate the Wild Waste: the stupid, the greedy, and the damned. If that is the case, then it only remains to be seen which of the three Roland McCallick is.
Our story begins up high, in the spiral-shaped clouds. The shot follows a vulture, as it soars through the turbulent whiteness, narrowly avoiding a miniature cyclone that forms then disippates in an instant. It angles downward, and emerges from the cloud cover. Below, the great yellow-brown expanse of the Wild Waste stretches. Miles upon miles of rolling dunes and bare sand, broken up only occasionally by a jutting wastebone chunk. Most are not visibly identifiable as once belonging to any particular creature, but here and there larger ones jut out of the sand. A finger here, a molar there, something that resembles a chunk of a jaw. Some of the smaller wastebones are more complete. Here lies half of a snake-like monstrosity with far more legs than any ordinary creature would need. Over there, the spiked skull and ribcage of some three-eyed giant mammal sits. Far in the distance, the vague outline of a truly massive wastebone can be seen. It takes the shape of a vaguely humanoid skull and faces upwards, everything but the face buried in sand.
The vulture continues its descent, and with it the shot descends, zooming further and further in. At first, all that can be seen is a cloud of dust, bursting from the sands with no discernable source. As the shot continues to zoom in, however, we see that at the head of the cloud, there is a faint speck. That speck grows into a dot, and that dot grows into a mote, and that mote grows into a blob, and eventually we see that it is a Spindlefoot, pounding across the Waste with speed. Mounted upon the back of said spindlefoot is a man, his duster flapping in the wind, his head down. A great sack sits on the saddle behind him, and it is apparent that it weighs heavily on his spindlefoot as it tries its damnedest to go as fast as the man is urging it to.
We cut to the man's perspective, as the slapping of the spindlefoot's feet against the sand and the rustling of the saddle fills our ears. He looks up for a brief moment, at the vulture circling above, an ominous portent of his approaching fate. He instantly regrets this action as the crack of of a gun sends him once again ducking. He hazards a glance behind him, and can see several shapes in the cloud of dust. All goggled, bandanas around their faces. One holds up a smoking six-shooter, and the cylinder rotates as a flash emerges from the muzzle. The man once again ducks, but the sound of an impact signifies trouble. Behind him, he can see a cloud of white trailing behind him, mingling with the dust. The sack his mount carries has been struck, and the white coal within is spilling out.
Through the chaos and the dust, a voice rings out, slightly muffled. "McCallick! This here's yer last warnin'! Surrender, return what what ya stole from the Baron, an' come with us, an' maybe we'll let ya keep both yer ears! We got you outnumbered, outgunned, an' outpaced!" Another shot rings out, whizzing over Roland's head, as the ringleader of the group fires once again.
For cinema's sake, I didn't include much background info initially, but here's what has gotten Roland into this situation: He got it into his mind to strike against the Baron, decisively and destructively. He set out with two irons, a couple of sticks of dynamite, and a large sack, and has since made off with a massive amount of white coal, stolen directly from a pylon. He couldn't just leave the rest of the white coal in the Baron's hands either, so another stick of dynamite was enough to set it all off, scattering bits of pylon all over the place. The resultant magical explosion turned the surrounding sand to glass, and let off a great spiral-shaped mushroom cloud that stretched all the way up to the constant cloud cover above. Roland was hoping to get away in the chaos, but evidently he's been found on his way to the Frontier, where the Baron's hold is not nearly as strong, and where he could probably sell off the white coal for a pretty penny. Unfortunately, it seems that some bounty hunters have gotten wind of him. He isn't sure who the group is, but they sure are a tough-looking bunch.
Roland still has two sticks of dynamite left, do with that information what you will.
If any of this seems out of character for Roland, let me know, I can change it to something that seems more like something he'd do.
Roll initiative, and describe your character!
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Yep. This sounds exactly like something Roland would do.
Dust.
It was the taste of dust. It coated his lips. Ground between his teeth. He felt it pop every single time he heard a gunshot behind him and he clamped down with his teeth. He kept one hands on the reigns, the leather of his gloves creaking as he gripped. The other hand patted Gunpowder's neck. Stroked it. He whispered to the Spindlefoot as they went.
"Easy boy. Easy. Just keep right on along, ya' hear?" He said, casting glances over his shoulder. He stopped patting Gunpowder's neck occasionally to reach up and push the worn, brown, beaver skin hat down to keep it from flying off. The orange and yellow and brown poncho that he wore over his half plate, a shiny set of armor almost pewter in color with a star emblazoned on the breast as a symbol of his former status as a Knight of the Church of the Silent God. Two gunbelts crisscross his hips, each studded here and there with bronze conchos that are themselves emblazoned with stars, with bullets hanging in loops on either belt. His jaw is covered in a weeks growth of stubble, almost a beard, and unwashed dark hair pokes from beneath the hat, which he keeps pulling down so far that he almost obscures his dark eyes.
He digs the heels of his boots into Gunpowder's haunches and keeps the big bird rolling, rolling along through the dusty sands as quick as he can go. Roland dares one glance and then another over his shoulder, trying to count his pursuers, while also looking for somewhere to make his stand...
Initiative Roll-
22
Perception Check to count bad guys-
21 (Passive Perception 12)
Perception Check for somewhere with cover he can fight from, or where he can bottle neck his enemies...
(Nice initiative! He's definitely going before everyone else. Hell, I'll even give him an extra action on the first round if he decides to go into combat. Love a nat 20 as the first roll of the campaign)
Roland looks back, but all he can see is a cloud of dust and a load of dark shapes. He has no idea if they're shadows, bounty hunters, or just a part of the terrain. At his best estimate, there could be anywhere from three pursuers to over half a dozen. Another shot rings out, but it whizzes over his head and sends up a puff of sand far ahead. This much chaos, Roland knows, is bad news. Sanddrakes and Spindlefeet are generally fast enough to outrun most of the Waste's horrors, but having their attention is never good, and this much vibration is bound to call something on his ass.
Far ahead, Roland sees his destination. A little farther and it'd only be a silhouette, but rising out of the sand is the town of Splithollow, a rough frontier femur-town known to be relatively unsympathetic to the Baron. He hoped to sell his stolen goods there, but at this point he'd count his lucky stars if he could get there while still maintaining the standard number of holes a body is meant to have. Scattered around are a few wastebone splinters, good for maybe blocking a bullet but not quite fit for a last stand. But just ahead, there lies a much larger wastebone. It is rounded, triangular, somewhat flat, and has a slight curve to it. Probably the patella to go with Splithollow's femur. People from the East often criticize Wasterners for being brutish and uncivilized, but at the very least they know their bones. The wastebone might serve as decent cover, depending on where Roland heads. He could perhaps leap atop the bone and take cover in the shallow articular facets, but they only provide so much cover. He could also maybe take cover in the space between the sand and where the bone curves away from it, but that would leave him exposed to the sands and whatever creatures lurk within. He could also just go completely around it and take cover there.
His pursuers are around 60 feet behind him at the moment, a good distance for avoiding fire, but equally bad for returning it. The Wastebone is over 300 feet away, Gunpowder will need to push himself in order to reach it in a timely manner.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Roland cast his eyes back one more time and sighed, unable to tell what he was doing. He sighed, reached into his saddlebags, and produced his last two sticks of dynamite.
"Welp, guess this is where we're at fellas." Roland said as he bundled them together, broke the fuzes off to practically nothing, and got them lit, using his poncho to block the wind beating against him. He looked back one more time and then launched the dynamite, having pulled the fuzes to set them off as the group of riders behind him centered on it. He hadn't prayed in years. Frozen Hell, he had barely prayed when it was part of his job. But he muttered something under his breath as he went, just in case something, or someone, was listening.
"Sst, yah!" Roland said then, once the dynamite is airborne. He wasn't much one for prayer, but he sure hoped that the dynamite would give him a bit more of a lead as he spurred Gunpowder into a full out sprint...
Action-
Lob both sticks of dynamite, if I can, with the intent of putting it in the mid-front of the pursuers to do as much damage as possible and hopefully slow them down. If not both, at least one. Let me know if you need a roll here... Not sure how to throw dynamite in this situation haha. Being a duet I wasn't sure what you wanted for the 1d6 but here it is just in case...
3
Extra Action-
Dash Gunpowder as far as possible. Not sure of his base speed. I assume he's comparable to a warhorse? Don't remember if we covered this.
(Alright, roll 4d6 for damage, and I'll roll some saves! Gunpowder is statistically identical to a warhorse, only his hooves attack deals piercing instead of bludgeoning, like a cassowary's scary spear talons. Also, he has a tripled jump height/distance, because spindlefeet have mad hops.)
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Distance to the Wastebone - ~200 feet Distance to Enemies - ~60 feet
Saves: 9, 6, 4, 9
The dynamite explodes , sending a great cloud of dust and smoke flflying into the air and showering the back of Roland's neck with sand. Screams of man and mount alike signal to Roland that, through the dust and chaos, his dynamite has struck true. When the dust clears, two of the riders are no more. This doesn't prevent the rest of the group from pressing on, lowering their guns and unleashing a maelstrom of gunfire at Roland.
As the gunsmoke clears, Roland finally gets a good view of his pursuers. Certainly a rough-looking bunch, but then again it's hard to find anyone in the Wild Waste that you could call anything approximating 'pretty.' The leader (top left in the art) calls out to Roland. "A coupla explosions ain't gonna scare us away, lawbreaker! I'm bringin' yer head to the Baron, and I'm gettin' paid, y'hear? That, or my name ain't Jack Rieper!"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Roland cursed as volley of gunfire bore down on him. One punched a hole in his already worn poncho. One scraped the angle of his neck and shoulder. Another sliced along the outside of his bicep. He winced as he felt blood ooze down his arm, but he didn't stop slashing at Gunpowder's haunches with the reins as he drove his trusty Spindlefoot hell for leather for the Wastebone. He ignores Jack Rieper as he sprints the bird along, just seeking to get into the town...somewhere he could fight without being on open ground. Especially as he looks back and sees now that there are four of them left...
Distance to the Wastebone - ~80 feet Distance to Enemies - ~50 feet
Gunpowder squawks in protest as he desperately attempts to keep up this breakneck pace, as bullets fly all around. The wastebones looms ever closer, but Roland isn't safe yet. This fact is only emphasized as another hail of bullets fires from his pursuers' guns.
Several of the bullets strike Roland, but he endures, even as the blood drips from his wounds. Then, there is a great crack. Roland feels nothing, but still feels the impact. Then, Gunpowder lets out a howl, and Roland feels him stumble, then trip. Roland is tossed to the sands, and he can see Gunpowder struggling weakly beside him. There is a large bullet hole in the Spindlefoot's leg, and it hangs at a bizarre angle. The bullet has clearly broken the bone. It could be healed, with enough time and the aid of a bard, but for the time being it spells disaster, as Jack Rieper and his crew bear down on the fallen Roland. He struggles upright, but the incredibly fine sand parts before him, as he already sinks all the way to his knees in it.
(Roland has fallen to the sands, due to a lucky crit! Gunpowder is downed and unstable, but not dead. The sands are incredibly difficult terrain. Essentially, speed isn't just halved, it's quartered.)
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
The gunshots ring out. Roland curses as the first hits him, then turns to fire as another dings him. He grimaces, takes aim, and fires at the lead man...
Reaction- Riposte-
7
Damage-
4
Superiority Dice (usually added to damage but not sure what to do with it here...I've subtracted it from my available manuevers regardless)
8
Then he feels the crack, and eats dust.
This is the part where Roland would have sighed and cursed the Silent God for his (her? its? ) silence once again, but decided he didn't have time. He shrugged his shield from his shoulder and raised it as he struggled to his feet in the dust. Not going anywhere this time, huh? He brings his iron from his belt...
I assume bringing up his shield and Iron would be interact with object, but if it's too much, just the shield. I will attack if he still has the action economy to do so.
(Riposte is only when you take a melee hit, and is only a melee attack. I'll allow you to change it out if this means it wouldn't work for Roland. Equipping a shield is ordinarily an action, but I see no reason why he couldn't already readily have the shield at hand, since he wasn't carrying anything else, so I'll allow it to be an object interaction for now. You may roll to attack.)
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Yep. You're right. That's my fault. This whole character is out of whack and I clearly should have done better research before I built what I built because it is not working. Let me revisit what to do here and get back with you.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7o0-vYD1clg&ab_channel=AnttiMartikainenMusic
Our story begins up high, in the spiral-shaped clouds. The shot follows a vulture, as it soars through the turbulent whiteness, narrowly avoiding a miniature cyclone that forms then disippates in an instant. It angles downward, and emerges from the cloud cover. Below, the great yellow-brown expanse of the Wild Waste stretches. Miles upon miles of rolling dunes and bare sand, broken up only occasionally by a jutting wastebone chunk. Most are not visibly identifiable as once belonging to any particular creature, but here and there larger ones jut out of the sand. A finger here, a molar there, something that resembles a chunk of a jaw. Some of the smaller wastebones are more complete. Here lies half of a snake-like monstrosity with far more legs than any ordinary creature would need. Over there, the spiked skull and ribcage of some three-eyed giant mammal sits. Far in the distance, the vague outline of a truly massive wastebone can be seen. It takes the shape of a vaguely humanoid skull and faces upwards, everything but the face buried in sand.
The vulture continues its descent, and with it the shot descends, zooming further and further in. At first, all that can be seen is a cloud of dust, bursting from the sands with no discernable source. As the shot continues to zoom in, however, we see that at the head of the cloud, there is a faint speck. That speck grows into a dot, and that dot grows into a mote, and that mote grows into a blob, and eventually we see that it is a Spindlefoot, pounding across the Waste with speed. Mounted upon the back of said spindlefoot is a man, his duster flapping in the wind, his head down. A great sack sits on the saddle behind him, and it is apparent that it weighs heavily on his spindlefoot as it tries its damnedest to go as fast as the man is urging it to.
We cut to the man's perspective, as the slapping of the spindlefoot's feet against the sand and the rustling of the saddle fills our ears. He looks up for a brief moment, at the vulture circling above, an ominous portent of his approaching fate. He instantly regrets this action as the crack of of a gun sends him once again ducking. He hazards a glance behind him, and can see several shapes in the cloud of dust. All goggled, bandanas around their faces. One holds up a smoking six-shooter, and the cylinder rotates as a flash emerges from the muzzle. The man once again ducks, but the sound of an impact signifies trouble. Behind him, he can see a cloud of white trailing behind him, mingling with the dust. The sack his mount carries has been struck, and the white coal within is spilling out.
Through the chaos and the dust, a voice rings out, slightly muffled. "McCallick! This here's yer last warnin'! Surrender, return what what ya stole from the Baron, an' come with us, an' maybe we'll let ya keep both yer ears! We got you outnumbered, outgunned, an' outpaced!" Another shot rings out, whizzing over Roland's head, as the ringleader of the group fires once again.
For cinema's sake, I didn't include much background info initially, but here's what has gotten Roland into this situation: He got it into his mind to strike against the Baron, decisively and destructively. He set out with two irons, a couple of sticks of dynamite, and a large sack, and has since made off with a massive amount of white coal, stolen directly from a pylon. He couldn't just leave the rest of the white coal in the Baron's hands either, so another stick of dynamite was enough to set it all off, scattering bits of pylon all over the place. The resultant magical explosion turned the surrounding sand to glass, and let off a great spiral-shaped mushroom cloud that stretched all the way up to the constant cloud cover above. Roland was hoping to get away in the chaos, but evidently he's been found on his way to the Frontier, where the Baron's hold is not nearly as strong, and where he could probably sell off the white coal for a pretty penny. Unfortunately, it seems that some bounty hunters have gotten wind of him. He isn't sure who the group is, but they sure are a tough-looking bunch.
Roland still has two sticks of dynamite left, do with that information what you will.
If any of this seems out of character for Roland, let me know, I can change it to something that seems more like something he'd do.
Roll initiative, and describe your character!
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Yep. This sounds exactly like something Roland would do.
Dust.
It was the taste of dust. It coated his lips. Ground between his teeth. He felt it pop every single time he heard a gunshot behind him and he clamped down with his teeth. He kept one hands on the reigns, the leather of his gloves creaking as he gripped. The other hand patted Gunpowder's neck. Stroked it. He whispered to the Spindlefoot as they went.
"Easy boy. Easy. Just keep right on along, ya' hear?" He said, casting glances over his shoulder. He stopped patting Gunpowder's neck occasionally to reach up and push the worn, brown, beaver skin hat down to keep it from flying off. The orange and yellow and brown poncho that he wore over his half plate, a shiny set of armor almost pewter in color with a star emblazoned on the breast as a symbol of his former status as a Knight of the Church of the Silent God. Two gunbelts crisscross his hips, each studded here and there with bronze conchos that are themselves emblazoned with stars, with bullets hanging in loops on either belt. His jaw is covered in a weeks growth of stubble, almost a beard, and unwashed dark hair pokes from beneath the hat, which he keeps pulling down so far that he almost obscures his dark eyes.
He digs the heels of his boots into Gunpowder's haunches and keeps the big bird rolling, rolling along through the dusty sands as quick as he can go. Roland dares one glance and then another over his shoulder, trying to count his pursuers, while also looking for somewhere to make his stand...
Initiative Roll-
22
Perception Check to count bad guys-
21
(Passive Perception 12)
Perception Check for somewhere with cover he can fight from, or where he can bottle neck his enemies...
19
(Passive Perception 12)
How close are his pursuers?
DM of AURYN: The Measure of Devotion - Escape from New York
(Nice initiative! He's definitely going before everyone else. Hell, I'll even give him an extra action on the first round if he decides to go into combat. Love a nat 20 as the first roll of the campaign)
Roland looks back, but all he can see is a cloud of dust and a load of dark shapes. He has no idea if they're shadows, bounty hunters, or just a part of the terrain. At his best estimate, there could be anywhere from three pursuers to over half a dozen. Another shot rings out, but it whizzes over his head and sends up a puff of sand far ahead. This much chaos, Roland knows, is bad news. Sanddrakes and Spindlefeet are generally fast enough to outrun most of the Waste's horrors, but having their attention is never good, and this much vibration is bound to call something on his ass.
Far ahead, Roland sees his destination. A little farther and it'd only be a silhouette, but rising out of the sand is the town of Splithollow, a rough frontier femur-town known to be relatively unsympathetic to the Baron. He hoped to sell his stolen goods there, but at this point he'd count his lucky stars if he could get there while still maintaining the standard number of holes a body is meant to have. Scattered around are a few wastebone splinters, good for maybe blocking a bullet but not quite fit for a last stand. But just ahead, there lies a much larger wastebone. It is rounded, triangular, somewhat flat, and has a slight curve to it. Probably the patella to go with Splithollow's femur. People from the East often criticize Wasterners for being brutish and uncivilized, but at the very least they know their bones. The wastebone might serve as decent cover, depending on where Roland heads. He could perhaps leap atop the bone and take cover in the shallow articular facets, but they only provide so much cover. He could also maybe take cover in the space between the sand and where the bone curves away from it, but that would leave him exposed to the sands and whatever creatures lurk within. He could also just go completely around it and take cover there.
His pursuers are around 60 feet behind him at the moment, a good distance for avoiding fire, but equally bad for returning it. The Wastebone is over 300 feet away, Gunpowder will need to push himself in order to reach it in a timely manner.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Roland cast his eyes back one more time and sighed, unable to tell what he was doing. He sighed, reached into his saddlebags, and produced his last two sticks of dynamite.
"Welp, guess this is where we're at fellas." Roland said as he bundled them together, broke the fuzes off to practically nothing, and got them lit, using his poncho to block the wind beating against him. He looked back one more time and then launched the dynamite, having pulled the fuzes to set them off as the group of riders behind him centered on it. He hadn't prayed in years. Frozen Hell, he had barely prayed when it was part of his job. But he muttered something under his breath as he went, just in case something, or someone, was listening.
"Sst, yah!" Roland said then, once the dynamite is airborne. He wasn't much one for prayer, but he sure hoped that the dynamite would give him a bit more of a lead as he spurred Gunpowder into a full out sprint...
Action-
Lob both sticks of dynamite, if I can, with the intent of putting it in the mid-front of the pursuers to do as much damage as possible and hopefully slow them down. If not both, at least one. Let me know if you need a roll here... Not sure how to throw dynamite in this situation haha. Being a duet I wasn't sure what you wanted for the 1d6 but here it is just in case...
3
Extra Action-
Dash Gunpowder as far as possible. Not sure of his base speed. I assume he's comparable to a warhorse? Don't remember if we covered this.
DM of AURYN: The Measure of Devotion - Escape from New York
(Alright, roll 4d6 for damage, and I'll roll some saves! Gunpowder is statistically identical to a warhorse, only his hooves attack deals piercing instead of bludgeoning, like a cassowary's scary spear talons. Also, he has a tripled jump height/distance, because spindlefeet have mad hops.)
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Nice. I love it.
Damage Roll-
20
DM of AURYN: The Measure of Devotion - Escape from New York
Distance to the Wastebone - ~200 feet
Distance to Enemies - ~60 feet
Saves: 9, 6, 4, 9
The dynamite explodes , sending a great cloud of dust and smoke flflying into the air and showering the back of Roland's neck with sand. Screams of man and mount alike signal to Roland that, through the dust and chaos, his dynamite has struck true. When the dust clears, two of the riders are no more. This doesn't prevent the rest of the group from pressing on, lowering their guns and unleashing a maelstrom of gunfire at Roland.
--Rider 1--
Attacks: 13, 16, 21
Damage: 5 piercing
--Rider 2--
Attacks: 7, 15
--Rider 3--
Attacks: 11, 12
--Rider 4--
Attacks: 7, 18
Damage: 3 piercing
As the gunsmoke clears, Roland finally gets a good view of his pursuers. Certainly a rough-looking bunch, but then again it's hard to find anyone in the Wild Waste that you could call anything approximating 'pretty.' The leader (top left in the art) calls out to Roland. "A coupla explosions ain't gonna scare us away, lawbreaker! I'm bringin' yer head to the Baron, and I'm gettin' paid, y'hear? That, or my name ain't Jack Rieper!"
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Roland cursed as volley of gunfire bore down on him. One punched a hole in his already worn poncho. One scraped the angle of his neck and shoulder. Another sliced along the outside of his bicep. He winced as he felt blood ooze down his arm, but he didn't stop slashing at Gunpowder's haunches with the reins as he drove his trusty Spindlefoot hell for leather for the Wastebone. He ignores Jack Rieper as he sprints the bird along, just seeking to get into the town...somewhere he could fight without being on open ground. Especially as he looks back and sees now that there are four of them left...
Action- Dash!
DM of AURYN: The Measure of Devotion - Escape from New York
Distance to the Wastebone - ~80 feet
Distance to Enemies - ~50 feet
Gunpowder squawks in protest as he desperately attempts to keep up this breakneck pace, as bullets fly all around. The wastebones looms ever closer, but Roland isn't safe yet. This fact is only emphasized as another hail of bullets fires from his pursuers' guns.
--"Jack Rieper"--
Attacks: 21, 6, 24
Damage: 4 and 5 piercing
--Rider 2--
Attacks: 8, 11
--Rider 3--
Attacks: 15, 19
Damage: 3 piercing
--Rider 4--
Attacks: 23, 24
Damage: 6 piercing(Roland) and 20 piercing(Gunpowder)
Several of the bullets strike Roland, but he endures, even as the blood drips from his wounds. Then, there is a great crack. Roland feels nothing, but still feels the impact. Then, Gunpowder lets out a howl, and Roland feels him stumble, then trip. Roland is tossed to the sands, and he can see Gunpowder struggling weakly beside him. There is a large bullet hole in the Spindlefoot's leg, and it hangs at a bizarre angle. The bullet has clearly broken the bone. It could be healed, with enough time and the aid of a bard, but for the time being it spells disaster, as Jack Rieper and his crew bear down on the fallen Roland. He struggles upright, but the incredibly fine sand parts before him, as he already sinks all the way to his knees in it.
(Roland has fallen to the sands, due to a lucky crit! Gunpowder is downed and unstable, but not dead. The sands are incredibly difficult terrain. Essentially, speed isn't just halved, it's quartered.)
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
The gunshots ring out. Roland curses as the first hits him, then turns to fire as another dings him. He grimaces, takes aim, and fires at the lead man...
Reaction- Riposte-
7
Damage-
4
Superiority Dice (usually added to damage but not sure what to do with it here...I've subtracted it from my available manuevers regardless)
8
Then he feels the crack, and eats dust.
This is the part where Roland would have sighed and cursed the Silent God for his (her? its? ) silence once again, but decided he didn't have time. He shrugged his shield from his shoulder and raised it as he struggled to his feet in the dust. Not going anywhere this time, huh? He brings his iron from his belt...
I assume bringing up his shield and Iron would be interact with object, but if it's too much, just the shield. I will attack if he still has the action economy to do so.
DM of AURYN: The Measure of Devotion - Escape from New York
(Riposte is only when you take a melee hit, and is only a melee attack. I'll allow you to change it out if this means it wouldn't work for Roland. Equipping a shield is ordinarily an action, but I see no reason why he couldn't already readily have the shield at hand, since he wasn't carrying anything else, so I'll allow it to be an object interaction for now. You may roll to attack.)
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Yep. You're right. That's my fault. This whole character is out of whack and I clearly should have done better research before I built what I built because it is not working. Let me revisit what to do here and get back with you.
DM of AURYN: The Measure of Devotion - Escape from New York
(Bump)
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
(bump?)
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
I haven't forgotten. I'm working in the background and taking a character development moment. Like I said. The whole build is bunk.
DM of AURYN: The Measure of Devotion - Escape from New York